


In Ruins

by sharkshark



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Bruce is an archaeologist, Canon-Typical Violence, Hal is the annoying pilot who flies him around, Indiana Jones AU, M/M, Nazis, because it's Indiana Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5925469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkshark/pseuds/sharkshark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the late 1930s and Bruce Wayne is an expert in Egyptian archaeology. When he's called down to Egypt to help out an old friend, he meets Hal Jordan and everything goes downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Ruins

Bruce scanned the dozens of glossy eyes. The classroom was stuffy, filled with stagnant air that clung to the body. It had been raining, as usual, and the steady melody against the window lulled the class to sleep. Bruce had meticulously planned this review session for the final examination and he did not appreciate the collective energy level.

He picked up the heavy textbook up off his desk and absently thumbed through the pages. “As we studied earlier in the semester, viziers were the highest-ranking government official and appointed by the Pharaoh. They supervised the ruling of the country, recorded trade, sat on the judiciary high court, etc.” He tried and failed to make eye-contact with a few inattentive students. “They were also tasked to manage the fire-breathing dragons roaming the countryside.” Not a stir.

Bruce dropped the textbook, the resounding thud snapping the students out of their haze. He took some pleasure in the sharp bang of knees and elbows hitting the wooden desks in surprise. “I’m glad you’re back with me. We still have a quarter of an hour left and we will occupy every last second of it. Now, look at the diagram of the political power tiers that I sketched on the chalkboard.”

Fifteen excruciating minutes later, Bruce dismissed the class to the instantaneous chaos of students fleeing the room. He’d have to make the next review session interactive. Or maybe opening the windows and letting rain soak his students would wake them up. He snorted to himself and collected his books.

“That was an impressive stampede. Reminds me of the good ol’ days.”

Bruce, facing the back of the classroom, hid his smile. “You always asked me hundreds of questions after class. It’d be a miracle if I made it back to my office before I had to get ready for the afternoon lecture.”

Dick walked into the classroom, looking smart in a sweater and tan trousers, and leaned against Bruce’s desk. “You loved it. You got to rant about all the stuff you didn’t have time to cover in class. ”

“Nothing I do qualifies as a ‘rant’.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Okay, moving on”. Dick picked out a letter from the pile of papers he was carrying. “So, I was loitering in the department lounge and saw this in your mail cubby.” He held it up and waved it under Bruce’s nose until Bruce reeled back and snatched it out of Dick’s hand.

He saw the sender’s name and the source of Dick’s curiosity. Bruce almost wrinkled the paper with how tight he was gripping it. “Did you read it?” he demanded. 

Dick held his hands up in surrender. “Just saw it and figured it could be good news.” He dropped his hands and smiled devilishly. “Is it what I think it is?”

It most likely was. Talia al Ghul had a flair for dramatics that she inherited from her father. She enjoyed the suspense of a cryptic, unopened letter, even if it was slower than a telegram.

Bruce took a deep breath and forced his blood to come down from a boil. This wasn’t new behavior for Dick, but it had been a while since Dick rifled through any part of Bruce’s life. He’d forgotten how to handle it. Once he soothed the reflexive anger, Bruce carefully opened the letter and skimmed the contents.

“Talia needs a consultation for the site she is currently excavating.”

“And?”

“And I’ll fly down to Cairo in a month’s time.”

“Well, what’s the site? Where is it?”

Bruce hid an annoyed frown. “It doesn’t say.”

Dick, disappointed but unsurprised, huffed. He had accompanied Bruce to another one of Talia’s excavations, five or six years before. Dick had been an undergraduate, eager to learn and undaunted by Talia’s aloofness and games. He thankfully hadn’t lost the boy-eyed wonder, but novelty of being around professional archaeologists had worn off by the time the season was over.

The silence stretched a few moments too long. A handful of years ago, Bruce would’ve asked Dick to accompany him. But now Dick had his own research, his own projects.

Bruce finally broke the silence. “How’s your dissertation?”

Dick considered the question. “Good. I kind of hit a wall with my interpretation of the pottery. Babs is going to help me out later. You know, fresh pair of eyes.”

Bruce nodded and hesitated before clapping Dick on the shoulder. He had been wrong-footed around Dick for a while. It was strange, seeing someone who used to be under his supervision no longer needing his help. He no longer combed through Dick’s papers, correcting him when he missed a vital part of analysis. Bruce could tell, from the downturn of Dick’s lips and furrow between his eyes, that Dick was disappointed at Bruce’s predictable retreat from the conversation.

Bruce gathered his bag and papers. “I need to write back to Talia.” He began walking towards the door, but paused at the doorway and adjusted his bag. “I’m sure you’ll figure your research out.”

He heard the quiet “thanks, Bruce” as he turned into the hallway.

***

One month later, the monotony of final examinations was behind him. His former students were doing whatever they did once they were set free for a handful of weeks. Dick had been neck deep in articles and books when Bruce had left.

After five days of turbulence and stopovers on a passenger plane, Bruce landed in Cairo and set off to check into his hotel. The next morning he woke up with a crook in his back and met the group of five men and camels that would lead him to Talia’s site. 

As the sun rose higher in the sky, he further regretted the evolutionary chain that resulted in Camelus dromedarius. Every now and then, the camel he was riding would reach behind and try to take a snap at his legs. Bruce gave an irritated tug on the reigns, which the camel loudly protested.

“I don’t fancy camel meat,” Bruce muttered, “but I’ll make an exception for you.”

When the camel convoy reached the first of the Great Pyramids, Bruce expected one of the men to call for a stop. Talia hadn’t mentioned exactly where her site was, but he had assumed that it would be somewhere in the Giza necropolis. They slowly passed the Eastern Cemetery, with its several square brick tombs. Then the large Pyramid of Khufu, standing several stories tall. The Western Cemetery came and went. Bruce looked back. The rest of the convoy was still following in line and the Giza Necropolis passed by behind them.

The camel groaned.

It was another couple of kilometers over rocky, sandy hills. As they got closer, Bruce could distinguish what looked like a mound of dirt and rock piled against the side of a hill. Whether it was back dirt from the dig or a natural deposit of earth, he wasn't sure. The site was filled with people; excavators, senior archaeologists, and men and women tending the camels and campsite. The scale of it was impressive. It must be an exquisite find, he thought.

On a closer look, the structure they were excavating was the dirt mound itself. They had already removed most of the topsoil and Bruce could see the beginning of a flat roof formed out of mud bricks. Aside from the exposed doorway and what was already excavated, it looked like an extension of the natural curve of the hillside. An earthquake or continual erosion from the wind must have exposed either the doorway or roof.

Once they reached the site, he heaved himself off the camel, knees more wobbly than he would’ve admitted. He scanned the crowd for Talia and soon saw her stroll over. She wore a wide-brimmed hat and a loosely concealed smirk. What is she hiding?

“I have much to show you,” she said, in lieu of a proper greeting. She linked her arm with his and led him to a large white tent. He looked longingly back at the excavation as they stepped through canvas flaps. She sat on a wooden chair in front of a short table that was covered in papers and books. Bruce settled down into a chair across from her.

“Did you enjoy the ride from Cairo? I told Amir that you and Miriam would get on quite nicely.”

“Miriam?”

“The camel.”

Bruce huffed. “Yes, the camel was a doll. I loved it when she tried rid me of my fingers.”

Talia smiled and picked up a glass half-full of water. She took a long sip.

Bruce didn’t smile back. “Talia, you have something for me?”

Talia patted his hand. “For such a careful man when it comes to your research, you can be so impatient.”

Bruce forcibly relaxed his stiff posture. He even attempted a smile. “I get curious.”

Talia gave him a smile that reminded him of when they were younger. He had known Talia for years, ever since Bruce had studied Egyptology under her father. They knew each other’s ticks.

“You know how much I love to tease you,” she said. Bruce did. “I have quite the surprise for you.” She waved at the materials on the table, which Bruce took as permission.

Bruce read her notes while Talia spoke with one of her excavators. It was basic site notes and a list of artifacts they had found. Talia had identified the structure as a tomb from the early 4th dynasty, around 2600 BCE. Gold, gems, urns, statues. Fascinating, but nothing Talia couldn’t recognize on her own. There had to be something more to this.

Then he got to a page filled with hieroglyphics that Talia had copied from the tomb walls, with rough translations on the next page. He laid both pages side by side and went over Talia’s work. He went over it again. And again. His gaze snapped to Talia’s.

“These names? They’re-”

"Yes.”

“And this is exactly how it appears in the tomb?”

Talia rolled her eyes. “I drew them myself. It’s directly from the burial chamber.” She reached over and pointed at another series of names further down the page. “It mentions her husband, Ankhaf, and her brother, Khufu, by name.”

“Princess Hetepheres,” Bruce exhaled. “She was the wife of a vizier and the sister of a Pharaoh. What is she doing out here? The early 4th dynasty didn’t build hidden tombs for high royalty.”

Talia shrugged. “We’ve been wondering for years why she wasn’t buried with her family in the Giza Eastern Cemetery.”

Bruce turned back to the hieroglyphics. “Have you translated all this?” His voice had long since taken on the brisk, demanding tone that Dick hated. He always found it difficult to reign it in.

“What did you think I called you here for? I could decipher some parts over the past few months. Her life as royalty, her family, her accomplishments. But there are full sections I cannot make heads or tails of.”

She dropped the friendly tilt from her voice and leaned forward.

“I have a site to run. I can’t spend weeks looking at half a room when I have an entire tomb to manage. I’d normally set it aside for later, once this phase of excavation is over. But I have to admit,” she sighed and leaned back in her chair, “the mystery of it is driving me absolutely insane.”

Bruce’s chest blossomed with affection for her.

“Can you help me with this?” she asked, her face serious.

“Of course, I will,” Bruce said. “Did you really doubt that?”

Bruce could see the twinkle of amusement in her eye. “No, I can’t say I did.” She stretched and stood up. “But I am a woman in a male-dominated field. I’m not used to getting my way so easily.”

“What was your backup plan if I refused?”

“Mysterious hieroglyphics in a mysterious tomb? Bruce, you didn’t stand a chance.”

***

After lunch, Talia let Bruce loose around the site. He had been growing impatient. It had been a long time since he hadn’t had full control of an excavation and he was eager to get to work.

Now that Bruce knew the time period and occupant, he could see the architectural inspiration. The base design seemed to be a mastaba, a typical tomb of the 4th dynasty royalty and administration. The mastaba, which should’ve been several feet high, only stood a little above head-level and the sloping sides were purposefully disguised as a hill by stone and dirt. It was frankly, odd.

Stone had been removed from the doorway and a wooden door had been put in its place. Torch in hand, he walked inside. The baked mud bricks held up well, probably because of the limited exposure to the elements. There was a narrow hallway, which led to a small room, the chapel. A large altar sat at the opposite side of the room. Any artifacts that were once there had been cataloged and removed from the site, but he could imagine dried food, gold jewelry, and other offers placed on the stone. The walls were covered in paintings and reliefs. With great difficulty, he pulled himself from the chapel and walked over to the main shaft.

The shaft, in crude terms, was a giant hole in the ground, going down several feet. It was square and the walls looked solid. Talia had built a rope ladder that led down into the darkness. He carefully held the torch in one hand and made his way down. The wood creaked ever so often, but after a few minutes his feet touched ground.

He turned in a circle, lighting the three stone walls. The chamber had been carved into the bedrock, with wood panels supporting it. The fourth wall, the fake wall, had been made out of baked mud bricks, and was already partially removed by Talia’s team. The room right behind it was the burial chamber.

Bruce stepped through the opening in the wall and a chill went down his spine, as it always did when he first stepped into a burial chamber. It was pitch black, except for the flickering light brought by his torch. The light from the flames dimly lit the walls and glinted off the sarcophagus in the center of the room. Large gold statues, too big for Talia to transport up the shaft, lined the walls. The statues glowed from the light and created an other-worldly haze. The loudest noise was his breath and the 4500 years of silence.

He walked further into the room, looking at the images on the wall and the decorations on the sarcophagus. Talia had already opened it, confirmed that a body was there, and put it back as it had been. If asked, Talia would say that it was to keep the body preserved, but Talia carried a healthy respect for the dead that kept Hetepheres in her resting place. After this phase of excavation, Talia would take great pains to keep the body protected.

Hours later, when his eyes started to ache from the strain of a barely lit room, he climbed back up the ladder to the chapel, then exited the tomb. He held back a full body flinch from the sunlight. He carefully walked to the West side of the mastaba, where Talia was ordering her excavators about.

“I want to see where the natural rock ends and the human-made portions begin. Be careful! If you cause this structure to collapse, I’ll have your heads.” She stalked the length of the sloped wall, eyeing them carefully. When she caught sight of Bruce, her expression softened and she beckoned him over.

“That’s quite a magnificent tomb,” Bruce said, his voice rough from disuse.

Talia stroked its side. “It is most exciting. I was fortunate to get here first.”

“I will start deciphering the hieroglyphics immediately. I’ll need to work from the site, preferably in the tomb itself. Which sections do you need most urgently? Do you have a supply of lanterns-”

“Bruce, dear, let me answer a question before you jump on to the next one.”

Bruce bit his tongue and motioned at her to continue. He recognized and resented the need to momentarily go at her pace.

“The chapel I don’t need any help with. I haven’t tried translating all of it yet, but from what I’ve seen there is nothing too out of the ordinary. You know how it is, so much to do so little time.”

Bruce brusquely nodded.

“The main trouble is in Hetepheres’ burial chamber. There’s a section on the North wall I can’t decipher. The hieroglyphics are mainly phonetic. I sound out the syllables, but the words they form mean nothing to me.”

“Do you have any idea-”

“Absolutely none.”

Bruce gave a small smile, genuinely pleased. “Wonderful.”

“I know you Bruce, there’s nothing you love more than a good puzzle.”

It was true. Until he was certain of his translation, nothing would be more important.

***

Bruce slept in his own tent at the site. It wasn’t comfortable, but he had slept through worse when he was a student on the lowest level of the academic food chain. He woke up early, had a brief breakfast, had a quick check-in with Talia, and descended back into the tomb.

He placed several lanterns around the burial chamber, so he could at least see what he was working with. He checked Talia’s translations and interpretations against the originals on the wall. Talia’s work was accurate and detailed. He would be impressed, but he had already known her talent and skill. She already did most of the work for him. Most of it detailed Hetepheres’ life; her love for her family, her duties as a wife to a vizier, the aid and advice she gave her husband and children. The hieroglyphics and illustrations complemented each other nicely. He saw Hetepheres with her husband, holding an offering before Isis, and standing before her handmaidens.

But when he got to the back wall, he couldn’t understand it. Unlike the rest of the tomb, there were hardly any logograms, which tended to symbolize common nouns. It was all phonograms, which Bruce had to sound out in order to form a word. He stood there, looking back and forth from Talia’s notes to the wall. He didn’t recognize any of the words he formed.

The illustrations were not any more helpful. Hetepheres holding an object that looked like a wedge of a circle. A series of men with no names attached to them. A goddess, possibly Isis, with her outstretched wings. A finely decorated man or god he could not recognize from memory alone.

By the end of the day his head hurt and he was glad for the distraction of dinner. Talia looked at him sympathetically as he numbly ate his bread and dried meat.

“Talia,” he said once dinner was finished. “I need to borrow the books you brought.”

Talia raised an eyebrow. “Which ones?”

“Just.” Bruce sighed. “Just all of them.”

Over the next few days, Bruce stayed in his tent and scoured Talia’s books on hieroglyphics and Egyptian history. He skimmed chapters and books that he knew would have no relation to Hetepheres, just in case. He read until he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He only took breaks for food and rest. Talia left him alone; she knew his habits.

He found nothing.

A week later found him sitting under the tent, eating lunch with Talia and a few of the archaeologists she regularly employed. He zoned out to the sound of their chatter.

“It would be interesting,” Bruce dimly heard Talia say, “to compare the origin of Enkidu with the creation of Pandora. Ancient Sumerian and ancient Greek, both made as a punishment for the arrogance of mortals.”

Talia’s voice faded over the loudness of his own resonating thoughts.

Enkidu.

Bruce abruptly stood up, knocking over his cup of water and sending his plate sliding across the table.

“I have to…” he started, but briskly walked away. He hurried back to his tent, pushed the canvas flaps out of the way, and snatched Talia’s parchment out from under a small pile of books. He sat down on the ground, reading over the hieroglyphics that had been stumping him for days.

Minutes later, Talia came in, face impassive and braced for the unexpected.

“What was that out there? What were you-” She stopped when she saw his face. “What is it? What have you discovered?” She rushed to his side and peered over his shoulder. Her presence behind him grounded him and he let out a weak laugh that he smothered with a cough.

He ran a hand through his hair and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart.

“Bruce?” Talia prodded again, impatient.

“It’s not Egyptian. The words, they aren’t Egyptian. They may be written in Egyptian hieroglyphics, but they are phonetically transliterated-”

“From what?”

“Sumerian.”

Talia let out a breath and sat back. She plucked the parchment from his hands and her lips formed the words. “By God,” she said absently. “Their writing systems aren’t even related. I didn’t think. I didn’t think to think.”

In hindsight, Bruce admonished himself for not realizing this earlier. It had been right there in his notes. He had known that the hieroglyphics had symbolized phonetic letters and syllables, but he had only focused on the Egyptian lexicon. The transliterated spelling in English was off, but the Sumerian words were glaring off the page. It could have been worse, he reasoned. He could’ve wasted months of time before another off-hand comment sparked his recognition.

Bruce met Talia’s eyes and they shared a smile.

“The implications of this,” Talia wondered. “What is Hetepheres’ connection to Sumer? It was in the Middle East and there is no recorded political interaction between Egypt and Sumer. They were separate entities, especially during the early 4th dynasty. Was it trade? Did she meet someone in court?” Her gaze sharpened. “Translate this as soon as possible.”

Bruce scoffed. “Did you really think I’d be doing anything else? You’re the one doing me the favor.”

“I seem to be doing you many favors lately.” She stood up and smiled sweetly at him. “Have a translation ready as soon as possible.”

The canvas flapped closed behind her, but Bruce was already absorbed with his work.

***

While Bruce finally knew where to start, unfortunately, his ancient Sumerian was a little rusty.

With a promise to report any new developments to Talia, he headed back to Cairo so he could do more intensive research. Talia, ever grateful, gave him the key to her office in the Egyptian Museum and let him have free range of her books. She only had a couple cuneiform dictionaries, but it was enough to jumpstart his memory.

It might have gone faster if he had asked an expert in Sumerian archaeology for help, but that was not an option, especially in these early stages. It was his project and he loathed to include a stranger. He might have trusted Dick as a second pair of eyes, but Dick hadn’t extensively studied this culture. No, someone second-guessing his process wouldn’t be anything but detrimental.

As he translated, he grew more and more concerned that he had taken a vital misstep. He got sentences that talked about moving piles of stone that guarded the ocean, something straight out of the epic of Gilgamesh. That, on its own, would not have been so strange. The fact that Hetepheres herself was listed as the guardian of some object of power, along with four others, was what made Bruce want to redo the entire translation.

And he did. Twice. He chose different meanings of the words, adjusted for possible misspellings, everything he could think of. He looked at the copies of the illustrations that had been on the tomb walls. One of the figures that he had thought to be Isis was probably Ishtar, the goddess who sent the Bull of Heaven after Gilgamesh when he scorned her. 

He didn’t know when or how Sumerian religion made its way to Hetepheres, but what he had was an Egyptian princess written into a mythological epic.

 

Talia, he wrote in a letter.

I have translated what I could.

The hieroglyphics name Hetepheres as a “guardian” of “the stone.” A Sumerian king had made her and four other individuals, all not named, “guardians” of its location. The king is not named, as well.

“The stone” refers to an object of power, in a land to the east, guarded by living rock. Yes, I was reminded of the Epic of Gilgamesh as well. There is no explicit description of “the stone” or what it was fabled to do. It is not referenced in the epic and I have no leads.

Hetepheres’ tomb was hidden, it says, so she could guard the location of the “key” to “the stone.” A description of the location was given and I believe I have determined where it is. It is listed as five iteru ~52.5 km south of Hetepheres’ tomb. It lies between two domed hills. There are more technical measures, from the Nile and other landmarks, that I included in my notes. This location, if it exists, most likely houses an underground structure or possibly even another tomb.

I request that you allow me to scout out this area. I will not perform any excavation. I will only determine if there is any superficial evidence of a man-made work.

I am awaiting your response,

Bruce Wayne.

Bruce sent the letter off with a young man employed by the museum. For the next day, he painstakingly went over every detail of his recent work. He didn’t get any new answers. He hoped that this structure out in the desert, if it existed, would explain why Hetepheres placed herself in Sumerian mythology.

A day later, he received Talia’s simple response of Do what you need to do.

***

Ferris Air was stationed right outside Cairo. Carl Ferris, fresh out of military service, had opened his own airfield after the Great War ended, when there had been a boom in the technology and market for air travel. A few years back, Bruce had been hired by a museum to investigate places of possible archaeological interest and he employed one of Carl Ferris’ planes to charter him around Egypt. At the time, Ferris Air had been flourishing.

52.5 km could be done by automobile, but Bruce would have a better view by air. He would be able to spot something that he could never see from the ground, like the two domed hills mentioned in the translation. When Bruce arrived at Ferris Air’s administrative office, a small building in sore need of new paint, there was a distinct lack of other customers or any people, for that matter. He pushed open the door and looked inside. The desk was empty, as was the assortment of chairs. He was considering leaving, when the back door burst open.

Carol Ferris, hair windblown, locked eyes on Bruce immediately.

“Professor Wayne,” she said, almost breathlessly. She straightened her posture and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. A professional calm settled over her. “Welcome back to Ferris Air. Come in, please.”

Bruce stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He had met Carol Ferris a handful of times. She was a competent pilot and flew him to the Eastern Desert once.

“Good to meet you again,” he said, holding out his hand. She shook it firmly. “Could I speak to your father? I would like to give him my regards.”

Her expression faltered. “I’m afraid my father passed away a few months ago. I have taken over management of Ferris Air.” The trace of grief was quickly wiped away. She eyed him, as if accessing his intent.

He could guess what had happened the past few months. Her father died and pilots with their masculinity to prove refused to work under a woman. With a sudden loss of employees, the other staff would have quit as well. It would’ve been a setback, of course, but a temporary one. Carol was resourceful and talented. She would build her business back up soon enough.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said. He cleared his throat and glanced around the empty room. “I need to travel to a spot in the desert, about 54 km south from here. I might need an extended aerial view of the area as well. It’s a potential underground archaeological site and I want to get it sorted as soon as possible.”

Carol’s shoulders relaxed and she nodded. “I know just the pilot. He’s rough around the edges, but he can get you there faster than anyone else.”

“Perfect.”

***

Carol led Bruce over to a giant mechanical shed. The building was old, made out of sheet metal with two large open garage doors. Several planes, some whole and some decrepit, were littered across the interior.

Carol noticed his gaze lingering over a rusted fighter plane from early in the Great War. She shrugged. “We keep a lot of the planes in here. Protect them from the weather when they’re not being used.” Her eyes slid over to the planes that will likely never fly again. “Some we keep for spare parts.”

The way her gaze lingered, Bruce figured it was more of a collection of memories than practicality.

When they got close enough, Carol knocked on the nose of the nearest plane and the noise reverberated through the wide space. A thunk and a loud curse followed.

“Fuck. Hold on a moment, Carol. I’m stuck under this sonofabitch.” The sentence degraded into indecipherable muttering.

After the clang of a dropped wrench, a brown-haired man absolutely covered in motor oil popped up from between two planes. He tried to brush off the dust on his coveralls and only smeared oil further across his chest. He appeared unaware that Bruce was even there.

“Hal,” Carol said, louder than before. Hal looked up and froze when he saw Bruce. For a moment, Bruce thought that Hal was going to apologize for the rude behavior, if not for Bruce then at least for Carol. After a beat or two, Bruce could almost see the mental shrug, when Hal decided that he didn’t care. Hal leaned against the plane, smiled, and raised an eyebrow.

“So, what can I do for you, Carol?” Hal asked.

Carol crossed her arms. “This is Professor Bruce Wayne. Professor, this is Hal Jordan. He’s one of my finest pilots.” To Bruce, it seemed like he was her only pilot.

Jordan didn’t seem bothered. “Good to meet you,” Jordan said, as he stuck out a hand covered in motor oil. Jordan smiled cordially, or cordially enough to appease Carol. 

Bruce eyed the dirty hand, knowing that Jordan was fully aware of how difficult it was to remove motor oil from anything. Bruce was about to refuse the hand and request that Carol be the pilot herself, as she was more than capable, but then he saw the challenge in Jordan’s eye and Bruce’s choice was made from there.

“Good to meet you, too,” Bruce said, taking Jordan’s hand and giving it a good, hard shake. Jordan’s smile turned strained and he also squeezed vigorously in retort. The handshake continued, their grips getting harder and harder, until Carol cleared her throat.

“Okay, boys, here’s what’s going to happen. Hal, you’re going to get the plane ready while Professor Wayne signs the paperwork and sets down a deposit. We’ll meet by the Ford Tri-Motor on the tarmac in three quarters of an hour.”

With one last crunch, Bruce and Jordan released each other’s hands. Jordan, ignoring Bruce now, lazily saluted Carol before walking off.

Carol sighed and began the walk back towards the office building. “Follow me, please.”

Bruce followed, but spared a glance behind him. He caught Jordan massaging his hand. Bruce, satisfied, turned back towards Carol.

From his first impression, Jordan was a man who liked to push limits just to see how far they’d bend. Men like that saw it as an accomplishment, a boost to their ego. Bruce wondered why Carol kept an infuriatingly subordinate man around.

Bruce had experience with immaturity; he taught dozens of brats a day. Jordan could intimidate and posture all he wanted, Bruce wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction or validation.

A challenge had been issued and Bruce wasn’t going to ignore it.

***

Later, Bruce and Carol met Jordan by a two-passenger plane. It had a single propeller on its nose and its wings were attached to the roof. It was slightly outdated, but in good condition. Jordan was leaning against the pilot’s door, dressed in an old leather flight jacket that looked too warm for the climate.

Jordan nodded at Carol as they came over. They carried out a conversation solely by expression, which spoke of a personal connection beyond employer and employee. Perhaps Bruce had miscalculated their relationship. Jordan, expression scrunched, turned towards Bruce.

“I’m looking forward to working with you,” Jordan said, tone slightly flat. 

“I expect this to be a resounding success,” Carol said, perhaps in an attempt to placate Bruce’s fears or to give Jordan a final warning. “Just let Hal know if you need anything, Professor. I’ll see you both back here by the end of the day.” Satisfied with what she saw, Carol turned back to the administrative buildings.

Jordan opened the door and climbed in.

“Let’s get going then,” he said.

Bruce opened the passenger door of the plane and he placed his bag, filled with parchment and sample baggies, in the small storage space behind the seats. He buckled himself in while Jordan started the engine and began the process of takeoff.

“It would usually take half an hour to get to this set of coordinates,” Jordan said. He shot Bruce a look of deviousness. “But I’ll get you there in twenty.”

Bruce was about to respond, when Jordan did something and the plane lurched forward. Bruce gripped his seat as the plane took off faster than he had expected. His stomach and heart were left behind as they inclined, but all Jordan did was whoop. Bruce narrowed his eyes and made a show of relaxing his grip and posture. Any tense reaction would only egg Jordan on more.

They evened out in the air. The turbulence wasn’t bad, but it was loud and it rattled Bruce in his seat. It didn’t matter. He crossed his legs and reached back into his bag to pull out a small book. Jordan did a double take when Bruce flipped open a page. Bruce hid a smirk and spent the next fifteen minutes pretending to read about Sumerian mythology.

Five minutes from Jordan’s estimated time of arrival, Bruce put away his book and began to gaze out over the desert. There were several small bumps and hills. He searched for anything described in his translation or anything that looked human-made. When Jordan signaled that they reached the coordinates, Bruce finally saw it. There were two hills, larger than any of the mounds around them. There was also a symmetry to them, that bespoke of something not natural.

Between the mounds, there was a large flat area that could act as a runway. Once they came to a stop and Jordan shut down the engine, Bruce grabbed his supplies. Jordan stretched in his seat and turned to say something to Bruce, when a loud creak filled the air.

They froze. Jordan glanced to the ground in front of them and then back to Bruce, face pale.

“Don’t move,” Bruce whispered, not sure why he kept his voice quiet.

“Obviously,” Jordan hissed back.

The ground underneath them groaned and the nose of the plane dropped several inches.

Jordan jerked towards the door. “We need to-”

“Brace ourselves.” Bruce grabbed the neck of Jordan’s jacket and pulled him back, just as the ground gave out underneath them. They clutched at the back of the seats and planted their feet on the floor. Bruce saw the ground around them crumble and the plane slid nose-first into darkness.

Bruce had been prepared to fall several feet to their death. Jordan had been, too, by the grim set look on his face.

In the end, it couldn’t have even been called a fall. The plane just slid down, braced by collapsing dirt and rock underneath and behind it it. There was a crash and a thud when the nose of the plane hit something hard, but aside from a few wrenched muscles, Bruce was unharmed. However, it was pitch black and he couldn’t see if Jordan was as fortunate.

“Well, it sure is our lucky day, isn’t it?” Jordan said wryly. Bruce shut his eyes and counted to ten.

“We could be buried alive,” Bruce said, voice gruff.

“Why don’t we see about that.”

There was a fumbling and then a sizzle as Jordan lit a match. It was a small flame, but enough to cast a glow. They couldn’t see anything beyond the dashboard.

“Jordan, how many of those matches-” There was a click of the door opening. Bruce whipped around and grabbed Jordan’s shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?” Bruce demanded.

He could dimly see one of Jordan’s eyes roll. “You know, just making sure we aren’t buried alive.” He opened the door and repeatedly jerked it back and forth. “And what do you know, it looks like we aren’t.”

Bruce clenched his hand on Jordan’s shoulder. He could barely control his anger.

“You could have disturbed the ceiling and sent another ton of rocks upon our heads.”

Jordan smacked Bruce’s hand away. “I could see that there wasn’t anything there.”

“You didn’t know that,” Bruce hissed.

Jordan threw his hands up in the air, the match sizzled out. “Carol won’t be expecting us back for the entire day. We have hours here. We can either look around and see what we’ve got, or we can sit here until we either suffocate or murder each other.”

Normally, Bruce would’ve agreed. It would be wise to gather as much information as possible.

“You could have done it carefully,” Bruce said. “Instead of blundering around.”

Jordan angrily groaned. “You think I don't have a brain, don't you? I could see it the moment I saw you. I didn’t go to some fancy school like you and you think you’re better than me.”

“What are you-”

“I’m not going to sit here and let you treat me like a headless chicken.” Jordan’s voice was getting louder. “I’m going to go look around. Now, did you bring any torches in that ridiculous bag, or not?”

Bruce opened and closed his mouth, too furious for words. Jordan struck another match and Bruce winced from the sudden light.

Bruce reached for his bag, took out two torches, and held him to his chest. “We will do this on one condition. We do this carefully and with precision. We open the doors, test if the ground can hold us, and see if whatever is above us is stable.” He wasn’t about to take any more outbursts or arguments.

“Okay, fine,” Jordan snapped, grabbing a torch.

Bruce lit his torch and kept an eye on Jordan.

“On three,” Bruce said. Jordan groaned. “One, two-”

They opened the doors and stuck their torches out. Bruce’s voice died in his throat.

“I’m not some fancy archaeologist,” Jordan said. “But that looks a lot like stone tiles.”

The floor was laid with perfectly rectangular stone and the walls were made of the same. Caved-in rocks and soil obstructed the way they came in, but there was an open space in front of the plane. It was a narrow hallway and he couldn’t see what lay ahead. He turned around to tell Jordan what to do, but the pilot was already missing.

‘“For the love of-” Bruce muttered and stepped out onto the floor. He closed the plane door behind him.

Jordan was at the nose of the plane, looking around at the darkness ahead of them.

Jordan smirked. “So, I reckon we found what you’re looking for.”

“It could be something completely different. I’d have to study it extensively.”

Jordan huffed. “Well, it looks to me like we’re in some sort of buried chamber in a place where you thought there would be a buried chamber.”

Bruce clenched his fist and regretted not taking a damn camel. He rushed into this and now he was paying the price. He shouldn’t have let his curiosity overtake him. He could have spent more time cross-referencing myths and other translations or actually planned out this misadventure.

Ignored, Jordan started to walk ahead, but Bruce caught his arm. The other man opened his mouth to protest, but Bruce cut him off.

“Let’s keep the walls in sight at all times. We don’t want to get lost down here.”

Jordan’s combative demeanor dropped for a moment. “Sounds fair.” Then his hackles rose again. “But we figure this out together. You’re not my drill sergeant.”

Bruce reluctantly nodded and gestured Jordan forward. He wouldn’t let Jordan’s impulsiveness put them in danger.

They walked for a few minutes. The walls and floor were carefully constructed, but plain. What they passed looked sturdy. It was possible their plane found a spot weakened by an earthquake or some other incident.

There was no way yet to determine if this was the place described in Hetepheres’ tomb. It could have been a structure completely unrelated. Either way, Bruce hoped that there was another exit, one not blocked by two tons of metal and dirt.

“What were you even trying to find, anyway?” Jordan asked.

“I translated a set of hieroglyphics on a tomb wall that described this location in great detail. I wanted to see if it existed.”

“You got proof now, don’t you?”

Bruce opened his mouth.

Jordan cut him off “It could be something completely different. I remember. You could let yourself hope, you know.”

Bruce didn’t respond.

It was silent for less than half a minute.

“I assume you’re looking for something Egyptian.”

Bruce considered this. “Possibly. The hieroglyphics that I translated were ancient Egyptian. But they had been translated from Sumerian. There were some parallels to the epic of Gilgamesh, which was strange but fascinating.”

Jordan snapped his fingers. “Carol was telling me about that guy. Powerful king. Goes on a lot of quests. Friend dies, questions his mortality.”

Bruce’s eye twitched. “That is...a basic version.”

Jordan glared at Bruce. “Well, I’m sorry for not being as well-versed in ancient Sumerian mythology as you. If I knew there was going to be a test, I’d have done my research.”

Bruce sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “A little more than 80 years ago, Hormuzd Rassam discovered several stone tablets, detailing the life of an ancient king of Sumer, Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh is extremely arrogant, so the goddess Aruru create a rival, Enkidu, out of clay and saliva. Gilgamesh and Enkidu fought, Gilgamesh won, and they became good friends. Enkidu eventually does die, yes, from an illness cursed upon him by the gods. Gilgamesh goes on an adventure to find the secret of immortality, so that he does not have to eventually succumb to death as well. It’s a story about accepting your mortality and living your life as best you can.”

“This was a nice history lesson, but I don’t see any connection.”

“I was just about to get to that.”

“Well, get on with it then.”

Bruce was about to snap something back, but he saw the playful smile on Jordan’s face. It almost reminded him of how Dick would tease him and he felt a warmth of nostalgia. Bruce brushed off his off his flare of indignation and continued on.

“My translation mentioned something about guardians made out of stone. In the epic, Gilgamesh fights and defeats moving, or living, stone that the ferryman uses to cross the ocean. It’s not very specific what the moving stone is or what it’s actual intended purpose is, but it would be a strange coincidence. In the illustration above the hieroglyphics, Aruru and Inanna are depicted. Both are important goddess in the myth; one gave Enkidu life and the other led to his death. Aruru and Inanna were also illustrated on the tomb wall.”

Jordan blinked. “Oh well, that’s cool.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, a lot of that went over my head, but yeah, I can see why you’re so excited.”

Bruce didn’t realize he was visibly showing his enthusiasm. He tried to school his features back into something more professional. “My translation also mentioned that this moving stone was guarding 'the stone.’ I’m not sure what the ‘stone’ is, but it seems to be some object of power. Hetepheres was named as one of the five guardians of this object. My main priority is trying to find out more information, as I am not sure how Hetepheres or the ‘stone’ fits into the myth.”

It was more than Bruce had intended to share, but Jordan nodded, appeased. “So where are we now?”

“I have some theories, but at this point I can’t prove any of them. My translation named the underground chamber as the location to a key to 'the stone.’ But finding our way out takes priority, of course.”

Jordan abruptly halted, almost dropping his torch. They reached a dead end, a wall made out of stone bricks. But that wasn’t what Bruce focused on.

On the wall in front of them, there was finally writing. Some weight fell off Bruce's shoulders. “It’s in ancient Sumerian,” Bruce said, relieved. “I can translate it directly, without hieroglyphics as the middle-man. My Sumerian is rusty, so it might take a little bit.”

“What kind of person lets their ancient Sumerian go rusty,” Hal muttered.

It didn’t take long in the end. It was only a sentence.

“It says ‘extend your hand and place both feet forward’,” Bruce said. He frowned.

“Maybe it’s a fake wall,” Jordan said, stepping towards the stone in front of them. Bruce reacted on instinct. He grabbed Jordan and pulled him back. Jordan spun around, face red and eyes narrowed.

“We don’t know how firm the walls are, you could cause a cave in,” Bruce snapped.

Jordan made an aborted move towards Bruce, but in the end only clenched his fist. Jordan ran an aggravated hand through his hair. “What do you think I’m going to do? Tackle it? I’m not a goddamn moron.”

Jordan pushed past Bruce and firmly pressed against the stone tile tenth stone brick from the left wall and fifth up from the floor. Nothing happened at first, but after a moment dust fell from between the cracks in the wall. Bruce yanked them both back, certain that the entire ceiling was going to cave in on them.

The wall in front of them collapsed cleanly and the structure remained firm. The ceiling didn’t even creak. Jordan pushed off Bruce’s hands, which were lying protectively on Jordan’s shoulder and chest.

“Well, look at that. I didn’t send us to our deaths.”

Jordan, still holding his torch, walked forward. Bruce sighed and picked his up from where he dropped it. It was luck that they were still alive. The sooner Jordan realized that, the better off they were. But Jordan did solve the puzzle faster than Bruce, Bruce admitted. He...might have been harsher with Jordan than necessary. He just wished that Jordan would just slow down and let Bruce think.

The fake wall opened up to a small chamber. It had a pedestal in the middle and at the end was a stone staircase.

“Thank you,” Jordan muttered and quickly started towards the staircase. Bruce followed, but paused by the pedestal, four feet in height, which held a piece of lapis lazuli. Its blue color stood out against the stone pedestal. It was carved, shaped like a wedge of a circle, with small cubes both indented and protruding from the sides. It looked like a piece of a puzzle

Before he could stop himself, he picked it up and saw a line of Sumerian cuneiform underneath.

Dust fell from the ceiling. Bruce looked on in dread as the pedestal started to sink into the ground. A new wave of dust fell over his head and he broke into a run. He almost ran into Jordan who was standing at the foot of the staircase, looking up at the ceiling in surprise.

“Go!” Bruce shouted.

They ran up the staircase as fast as they could, Bruce silently cursing himself the entire way. He’d been on Jordan’s back the entire time for impulsivenes and look what Bruce did himself. Rocks and dirt fell behind them. When they reached the top of the staircase, there was another wall.

“There’s no hint-” Bruce started, but Jordan didn’t wait for him to finish. Jordan, still running, slammed his shoulder into the wall and it came tumbling down. Harsh sunlight blinded them, as they stumbled onto sun-baked sand. Bruce tripped over a lump of rock and grabbed the remains of the doorway to keep his balance. There was a loud crash behind him and Bruce knew that the room they were just in was completely destroyed.

The stairway must have led to one of the large mounds they saw when they were in the air. Bruce blinked away the black spots. When he did, he almost wished that they had stayed underground.

In front of them were twenty men with guns, all pointed at them.

***

Bruce and Jordan were herded towards two nondescript trucks. The trucks were heavy-duty, with back compartments covered in thick canvas tarps. The men surrounding them weren’t in uniform, either. Whatever this was, they didn’t want any attention.

Bruce could not see the tail of the plane. The area that had once been flat ground was caved in, with rocks jutting out of the ground. The underground structure was completely annihilated. A lead weight sat inside Bruce’s chest. All of it, gone. He should have known better than to pick up the lapis lazuli. He’d never seen any trap like that before, but, still, he should have known.

He clenched his hand and a sharp, burning pain raced through his palm. He forced himself to uncurl his hand and looked down. There was a large gash on his palm. It must have happened when he stumbled during the escape. Cut himself on a sharp piece of rock. He closed his hand again, to try and stop the bleeding.

Next to him, Jordan was shifting where he stood, looking at the several guns pointed at them. Bruce stepped closer to him, so that their shoulders were pressed together. Hopefully it would reassure Jordan, as well as giving Bruce a good position to stop him from doing something rash. They stood there for several minutes, each moment Jordan getting tenser and tenser.

One of the men spoke to another in a low voice. German. The lead weight in Bruce’s chest turned molten.

Finally, a man with a thin, curled mustache exited one of the trucks. Bruce breathed a sigh of relief. Any information was good information.

“Do you have an explanation for this, Professor Sinestro?” Bruce called. Thaal Sinestro strolled over, eyeing both of them.

“Professor Wayne, I don’t believe we've met before,” Sinestro said.

“I’ve read your papers on the occult.” Bruce stared back. Bruce didn’t mention that they were complete hogwash. “I don’t see what you’d want with any site I’m working on. The last I’ve heard, you were in Greece.”

Sinestro raised a thin eyebrow. The rest of his face remained a stern default. “I’m disappointed. You don’t understand what you’ve blundered into. In fact, I’m surprised you made it this far at all.”

Bruce tightened his fist. Pain from the wound flared again. He tied a handkerchief around the gash as he talked. "This is a structure possibly dating to the 4th dynasty, with relations to Sumer and Egypt. I can't imagine what you'd want here. There's nothing connected to your research on the Grecian occult." The carved piece of rock was heavy in his pocket. His research flashed before his eyes. Was there a relation to Hetepheres, "the stone", something he missed in his half-formed puzzle?

Sinestro looked at him with contempt. “I already have your notes, Wayne. We have spies at Talia al Ghul's site. I know exactly what you think you have here.”

Everything seemed supernaturally still and calm. Bruce could hear one of the men breathing behind him and the rustle of fabric as Jordan crossed his arms. “You didn’t answer my question. What do the Nazi’s want with my research?”

There was a sharp intake of breath and Bruce saw Jordan’s eyes widen. Sinestro considered Bruce. After several strained moments, he turned to one of his men.

“Kill the pilot, I’ll speak to-”

Jordan shouted and lurched forward, but Bruce pulled him back and stepped in front of him, putting himself between Jordan and the pistol.

“If you shoot him, I’ll never tell you what I saw written in there,” Bruce said slowly, looking into Sinestro’s eyes. “That’s why you didn’t shoot us on sight. You needed something down there and now I’m the only one who knows what it was.” The line of cuneiform under the piece of stone was photographed in Bruce’s memory.

Sinestro, once again, didn’t say anything for a few moments. His eyes narrowed, but his face remained impassive. Bruce could see Jordan trembling behind him. At first, Bruce thought it was in fear, but immediately corrected himself and knew that it was in anger. Bruce just hoped that Jordan would stay behind him and not do anything that would provoke Sinestro into action. Bruce slowly wrapped his hand around Jordan’s arm and gave it a squeeze, whether in warning or reassurance, he wasn’t sure.

“So be it, but I will have you both restrained. Kruger, search them both.”

Bruce and Jordan were roughly jerked apart. Bruce pushed down the instinct to fight back and let the men search his pockets and pat down his sides. From the corner of his eye, Bruce watched Jordan, who thankfully restrained himself. A hint of shame trickled in; he always expected the worst of the pilot.

Kruger brought Sinestro a handful of junk and the lapis lazuli Bruce took off the pedestal. Sinestro’s face, for the first time, changed from distaste. A sly grin broke across the face and he held the stone like it was a treasure.

“Now,” Sinestro said, carefully placing the lapis into his pocket. “We have much to discuss.”

Sinestro jerked his hand and half the men retreated back to the vehicles. Bruce, hoping Jordan would follow his lead, waited for Sinestro to continue.

“For the past five years I have been searching the globe for carved lapis lazuli just like this. I have been to temples and tombs in Greece, Lebanon, India, and Turkey. Each time I have found a set of directions to a piece of a key. Each key looked exactly like this and they all fit together like a puzzle.”

“And what, exactly, are the Nazis for?” Jordan asked next to him. Bruce pursed his lips. He didn’t like having Sinestro’s attention back on Jordan.

Sinestro appraised Jordan briefly before turning back to Bruce. “The funding was quite generous. The Nazi party is interested in my work. For good reason.” Sinestro paused meaningfully. “I am on the search for the creator of life itself.”

Bruce’s mind flashed to his translation. “Hetepheres was listed as one of five ‘guardians’ and had a piece of a key. You’ve found the four others. And now you have the fifth." And final. "They’re protecting the location of something called ‘the stone.’” Bruce’s lip curled. “You don’t actually believe that this ‘stone’ is the creator of life.”

Sinestro didn’t rise to Bruce’s barb. “I assume you’re familiar with the epic of Gilgamesh.”

Jordan smirked and Bruce felt a rush of solidarity.

“Of course I am.”

“Then you know, Enkidu died from an illness bestowed upon him by the gods, to punish him and Gilgamesh for the slaughter of Humbaba, the guardian of the Cedar Forest, and the Bull of Heaven. This prompts Gilgamesh to go on a journey to find the answer to immortality, so that he could prevent his own death. On his journey, he needs to cross an ocean that is guarded by what is described as moving stone. Gilgamesh cuts the stones to pieces and is subsequently taken across the ocean, where he meets Utnapishtim, who is the only man alive to have been granted immortality. In the end, Utnapishtim refuses to give Gilgamesh the answer to immortality and Gilgamesh returns to Uruk, accepting of his mortality.”

“A very basic retelling, yes,” Bruce said. “You haven’t given me any new information.”

“I know what Utnapishtim did not tell Gilgamesh. I know the secret to immortality.”

“This is a tale. We don’t even have the complete myth.”

“Each temple or tomb of the four guardians I’ve found all gave me another piece of information. I still do not know the name of the king, but he had found the key to the one thing that can bestow immortality, 'the stone’. Instead of keeping the power to himself, he split the key into five pieces and gave it to five people across the Mediterranean and Middle East. One of these pieces went to Hetepheres. When each of these guardians died, they noted in their tomb to where they hid their piece of the key.”

Then Bruce had found the correct location. The long-awaited sense of triumph never came.

Sinestro continued on. “Each piece of the key also came with a hint to the location of a final temple, the temple which holds 'the stone.’ This is the artifact that was able to give Enkidu life from clay and give normal stone the ability to guard the way to Utnapishtim. It also holds the power of immortality itself.”

“And only I know the final hint,” Bruce said.

Sinestro’s lip curled. “Yes.”

It was complete lunacy.

The story fit with what Bruce had seen, but there was no way an ancient magical artifact was at the end of it. He and Jordan had to get out of there as soon as possible. They couldn’t escape in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the day. They’d have to wait for a chance to escape. Sinestro would have no choice but to retreat if the Egyptian and British governments were alerted of his presence.

For now Bruce would have to play along. “I’m not writing it down,” Bruce stated. “I will look at the four other hints you have and I will figure it out myself. Once I have a location, you will set Jordan and I free in the nearest city and I will give the coordinates to you.”

Sinestro smiled. It was not a good sign. “I agree to your terms. Remember, though, that I know both your names. I know where you live. I know of any living family and friends.” His lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. “If you give me the wrong location, they are dead.”

Jordan tensed next to him. Bruce did not know of whom Jordan was thinking, but it was now imperative that they escaped as soon as possible.

Bruce swallowed. “Very well.”

Sinestro nodded. “I will give you my notes. You will work on the truck.”

The remaining soldiers motioned to the trucks with their weapons.

Jordan crossed his arms and glared at the guns pointing at him. “Where are we going?” he demanded.

Sinestro didn’t answer.

It didn’t matter. It would be nowhere near a large city. They would get away from this area, maybe drive along a main road for a while, veer off onto winding side streets, before making their way into another desert. There they’d make a temporary camp, until Bruce figured out the final location. It’s what Bruce would do.

Once they reached the trucks, Sinestro raised his hand and they all stopped.

“I will talk with the pilot alone before we leave. We need to have a,” Sinestro’s eyes narrowed, “chat.”

Bruce knew better than to protest. Jordan glanced at him and shrugged before being led to the back of a truck. All Bruce could do was watch and he thoroughly hated the feeling.

***  
Hal was not having a good day. When he had woken up that morning, he’d thought it would be more of the same. Work on some planes, lovingly sass Carol, try to sneak one of the working planes out for a quick flyby- normal stuff. Instead, he had been jerked around over Egypt by not one, but two control-freak archaeologists.

That morning when Carol came by the maintenance shed, he was elated. He knew it was a job. He’d get to fly for more than a small pocket at a time, he’d get some money, it’d be great.

His brief moment of joy was crushed when he saw the perfectly put-together stuck-up man, who stared at Hal as if Hal was camel muck on the bottom of his shoe. In hindsight he probably shouldn’t have provoked the paying customer and he might have judged Bruce Wayne a little too quickly, but there had been something controlling and dismissing about him that Hal was compelled to react to.

Okay, the tug-of-war between him and Bruce was a little childish. He could admit that. Even though Bruce definitely started it.

But that was all unimportant at the moment, because they were surrounded by several guns with only Bruce between Hal and certain death.

Not a good day.

“We need to have a chat,” Sinestro said. In Hal’s experience, that was never a good thing. Principals had chats with his mother. He had a few chats in bars with men who wouldn’t take someone’s “no” for no. And, well, he got a bit more than a chat when he had punched that superior officer, but the point stands. When Hal was being led to the back of a truck and was left alone with Sinestro, he was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be anything good.

The canvas flaps on the back of the truck were pulled open and he was prodded onto the left bench that ran the length of the truck. The canvas flaps fell closed and the area around them was cast into shadows. Sinestro, waving away the guards, sat opposite of Hal. Hal’s hands had been roughly tied behind his back and he wiggled his fingers a bit to try to get some feeling in them. He looked up to see Sinestro watching him. The guy had an incredibly piercing stare and Hal tried to not let it get to him.

Sinestro, back straight and hands templed on his lap, looked like a teacher who’d caught Hal goofing off instead of doing his math exercises. “I wouldn’t mind killing you,” he said, “but I don’t like distraction. Behave and you might yet live.”

As if Sinestro was whimsically doing Hal a favor.

It wasn’t anything Hal hadn’t expected. Sinestro had ordered Hal killed five minutes ago, obviously he meant business. Hal leaned back lazily in his seat and shrugged. “Except that killing me leaves you without a bargaining chip. Sure, you threatened our families, but they’re thousands of miles away. It would take you a while to make do on your threat. While I’m alive, you have something to dangle in front of Bruce to keep him cooperating. If I’m dead, you have no one to threaten but Bruce himself and we both know how stubborn he can be. I’m sure he has a reputation in the archaeological world.”

Sinestro was the type of guy, like Bruce, who preferred things go to plan. Hal was an unexpected tag-along and that put him in a dangerous position. “So yes,” Hal continued. “You can make your threats and I bet all of them are real. But know that I understand both of our situations.”

Sinestro’s expression hadn’t changed since Hal first started talking. It was calculating and Hal wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. He was never good with scheming and such as that. He was more of a run-in-and-do-it type of guy.

“You put some thought into this,” Sinestro finally said. “It’s more than I expected from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

Sinestro raised a thin eyebrow in contempt. “A dishonorable discharge.”

Hal was floored, even though he really shouldn’t have been. Sinestro seemed like a guy who was never unprepared, of course he did his research. But that didn’t stop the tingle of ice that shot through his him. He shifted uncomfortably and waited for his heartbeat to slow again.

Hal bet that Sinestro had been sitting on that one since they entered the back of the truck. Hal figured that he should be pissed; the dishonorable discharge was a definite stain on his life. Sinestro didn’t know about the guilt, though. He didn’t know the heart of the issue and couldn’t really get to where it hurt.

It was difficult, but Hal forced himself to shrug. “There’s more to me than what meets the eye. Anyway, it wasn’t hard to read the situation.”

Sinestro was unreadable. “Is that so?”

Hal considered that he might have misstepped. He had kind of hoped that Sinestro would have miraculously revealed some part of his plan by this point. Bruce would’ve been so much better at this.

Something sparked in his memory. “There is one thing I haven’t figured out.” Hal leaned forward. “What’s with the Nazis?”

Sinestro’s eyes narrowed.

“I mean, you don’t seem like the genocidal type.” The words just started flowing. “You said something earlier, actually, about them giving you funding for this. You seem like an ends-justify-the-means type. You’re just using their resources, you have no intention of letting them anywhere near whatever you find. In fact, I don’t think you want anything to do with them at all.”

Sinestro didn’t immediately respond. Hal forced himself to sit still and look on with nonchalance. He had the instinct to keep talking until Sinestro said something just to shut him up, but he was able to keep silent. Finally, Sinestro’s posture changed. Sinestro became… not relaxed, but he turned down the potential-murder-scale from a 9 to a 6. Which was good, Hal figured.

“You’re fortunate that you said that when we were alone,” Sinestro said. “Otherwise I’d have to have you beaten.” He didn’t seem very apologetic about it, but Hal didn’t expect him to be.

“I’m right then.” Hal let himself feel a little proud. “You know, that actually makes me feel better.”

“I assure you, that was not my intention.”

There was a strange sudden lack of ill-will between them.

“So,” Hal said, deciding to push his luck. “Can I ask what your actual plan is? If you aren’t going to give anything to the Nazis.”

Sinestro studied Hal. “Do you understand what it means to have power over life itself?”

Hal, surprised that Sinestro even answered him, blinked. “I...don’t think so.”

Sinestro leaned forward. “I’d have the power to create life out of nothing. With the power to create life, comes the power to take it away.”

“You don’t need an ancient artifact to kill someone,” Hal had to point out. You know, just in case Sinestro forgot about the gun resting on his lap. Bruce would’ve clocked him over the side of the head for that one.

If Hal hadn’t been watching carefully, he would have missed the flash of disappointment cross Sinestro’s face. “Of course you don’t understand,” Sinestro said. “The power to cure terminal illness, to create an army out of dirt. A weapon with unlimited potential. The world would fear me as much as they’d desire the power I have. I could end every war, I would bring about a new era of peace.”

“What about the people who don’t want to lay down and roll over?”

“They will.”

“Or they’ll die.”

Sinestro’s voice started to raise. “I don’t shy away from what needs to be done. I could end every conflict. Put a halt to genocide. I could bring order to this world.”

They were silent again. Sinestro was breathing a little heavier, not quite looking Hal in the face. He suspected that both their minds were whirling, that maybe Sinestro hadn’t planned to share that much.

“So you’d rule out of fear,” Hal hedged.

Sinestro was collected once again. “Sometimes that’s the only way to keep control.”

“Living in fear, is that really a perfect world?”

Sinestro frowned and Hal had the feeling that he had pushed a little too far. Sinestro stood up and turned away from Hal. “I don’t know what I expected from this. It’s time to go.” Sinestro left without looking back and a few moments later seven guards came in. Hal could only assume that Sinestro was with Bruce on the other truck.

It had been an abrupt end to the conversation and Hal was left winded. He was unsettled, not because of how extreme Sinestro’s plan was, but because Hal could see where he was coming from. Hal had met people, like the bigwigs in the air force that hadn’t cared about casualties, that shouldn’t have had the power they did. Both of his parents died and he hadn’t been able to help either of them. His father, dead in a crash because Carl Ferris made him fly a faulty plane. His mother, dead from an illness before he could reach the hospital. And he sure hadn’t reacted well to either. Running away to the Air Force because he missed his dad, running away to Egypt because he missed his mom.

Things happened that Hal wished so hard that he could’ve changed. His mistakes, the mistakes of others. Something that could make sure those things never happened again...it was tempting.

But then he thought about Carol and her determination to save her father’s business, loving her father despite his mistakes. Carol, hiring Hal despite his dishonorable discharge and obvious issues with authority. He thought about taking away her boldness and conviction and hated the thought. Their friendship was the only solid relationship in his life. And Bruce, who, even though they had disagreed at every turn, put himself between Hal and a gun. When there were people like that in the word, it couldn’t be too bad of a place.

Hal wondered when Sinestro forgot this potential. Who he might've lost to make him forget it.

-

They drove for a while and some of that was in silence. Hal never quite mastered the art of patience.

So, five hours and seven annoyed guards later, the truck rolled to a stop and his sullen companions exited the vehicle as soon as possible. They took the lanterns with them and Hal sat in darkness for a few moments before someone came back for him.

He exited the truck, following nameless grunt #3 into the falling darkness of twilight.

Carol had to be worrying about them by this point. She would’ve expected them back a couple hours ago. Once she realized something was up, she’d send out a search party. The only hitch in that plan was that they left they site looking as if he and Bruce died in a strange, tragic accident.

He tried to catch sight of Bruce in the hustle and bustle of tents being set up. After a few minutes, he saw Bruce being led to a tent several feet away. Hal made a note of its location as he was shoved towards a tent on the opposite side of camp.

“Six hours then we move," Sinestro called out.

Hal’s tent was sparse, to say the least. There were the wooden poles keeping it up and the nice, rocky dirt.

They tied him to the center pole.

Tied him.

To the center pole.

Hal knew that he was a hostage, but this seemed to go a little far. And was very unprofessional. This was not the first time Hal had been tied up (and he didn’t like to talk about that). He could’ve gotten himself out easily.

He didn’t. Instead he did something that did not come naturally to him. He sat and watched. And slept a little here and there, but he’s only human.

After a brief night’s sleep, they moved out. Hal assumed that they had a destination in mind, but he had no way of knowing where they were. Honestly, he was going a little stir crazy. He had no one to talk to except for his five constant guards that never felt the need to respond. He mostly imagined what Bruce was doing. Probably working on his puzzle. Hal would start to think about Carol, but would push it out of his mind. Up to this point he lived his life relying on himself and he wasn’t about to stop now. He got through the worst day of his life, seeing his father’s plane fall out of the sky, and he would get through this.

On the second night after Bruce and Hal fell through the ground, they stopped near some outcrop of rocky hills.

The soldiers made camp again. Same set up. Same routine.

Hal waited a few hours after the guards tied him up. Then he loosened his bindings and slipped out. Time to get this show on the road.

***

The last couple days had been difficult on Bruce. It wasn’t the puzzle; he had solved that fairly quickly. He didn’t tell Sinestro exactly where the final location was, though. He waited until the last moment before giving Sinestro vague coordinates that would only point Sinestro to a general area. He said that he couldn’t get the specifics yet. He could tell that Sinestro was starting to get impatient with him. It was difficult to care. His mind was on Jordan in the truck ahead.

Sinestro stated that Jordan was unharmed. Bruce believed him. He would’ve heard otherwise; Jordan wasn’t a quiet person. Bruce just didn’t know how long until the eye of the storm would pass.

Bruce and Sinestro had a few exchanges, mostly in regards to the final location. Sinestro was keeping their interactions to a minimum. It was a smart move. The less information Bruce had, the less likely it would be that he could escape. It wasn’t arrogance. His calculating nature, which made him such a good archaeologist, also made him a good planner.

It was no matter. He would figure a way out in the end and he would bring Jordan with him.

But somehow, somehow in his calculations, he forgot to plan for Jordan himself.

Bruce was sitting in his tent in the dark, thinking up and discarding possible escape routes, when the canvas flaps fluttered open. He slowly got into a defensive posture. In the past two days no one had entered his tent after dark. A deviation from the routine was not a good sign.

Somehow, somehow he was surprised when Jordan slipped into his tent. He wasn’t sure how he even knew it was Jordan, just that he was sure it was.

He really should have expected this.

That didn’t stop a wave of cold dread to wash over him.

“Jordan,” he hissed, as quietly as possible. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re busting out,” Jordan whispered back. “Before we get even more caught up in this.”

It was too dark, all he could see was Jordan’s silhouette.

“If you’re caught here, you’re dead.”

“I’ve been watching the guard rotations. No one will be by here for the next five minutes. Which means we need to go. Now.”

Bruce couldn’t move. “Where would we go? The closest city or village is miles away. I don’t have a solid plan yet.” His tent wasn’t in a good position to watch the guard rotations, which was most likely planned on purpose by Sinestro. He couldn't confirm or deny Hal's statement.

Hal paused. “I admit that I have no idea where we are. But we can slash the tires of one of the trucks and then steal the other one and get out of here.”

“No, we need to wait until we have a secure plan in place.”

“Have you talked to Sinestro? Really talked to him? He has plans for the future and he’s not going to tolerate people like us, who would just get in his way. And if this artifact thing isn’t there or if it doesn’t work? We don’t want to be there when that happens.”

Bruce roughly ran his fingers through his hair.

If this was their one shot, they’d have to take it. If they waited too long and didn’t escape, the result could be disastrous. The fact that Hal had been in the position to study the guard's shifts was a definite oversight by Sinestro, something they had to take advantage of, if it was true. Bruce could imagine that many people had underestimated Hal in the past- Bruce certainly had. But if they were caught escaping-

If only he had prepared for escape better. If he had factored Jordan’s possible actions into his calculations-

Jordan was there now. He had to recalculate.

“Just give me a minute to think,” Bruce hissed out.

“Okay, but we’re running a little low on time.”

“This is not the time for your sass, Jordan."

Hal made a ‘who me?’ gesture.

Bruce let out a large breath and slowly breathed in again.

A moment later, he straightened and collected his journals and notes.

“We’re leaving.”

“Great, let’s get the hell out of here.”

They left the tent silently. Jordan was right; no guards were nearby. They wove between the tents, Bruce following Jordan’s lead. It was surprising, to say the least- Bruce following someone else.

They made it to the trucks.

“We should cut the tires as late as possible,” Bruce whispered. “The sound would alert the guards. I’ll steal the other truck."

“You know how to steal a truck?”

Bruce didn’t respond.

It would have all gone to plan. They would have escaped. They would’ve gotten to safety, if it wasn’t for the solider that walked out from behind a large rock, zipping up his pants from a late-night bathroom break.

All three of them froze. Hal had his hand on the door handle. Bruce was a couple steps behind him, mouth open, whatever he was about to say caught in his throat. The soldier, eyes wide, only hesitated a moment before he swung his rifle onto his shoulder and yelled to the other soldiers.

The camp was awake and moving in seconds.

Hal sagged in defeat in front of him and looked back at Bruce. The several lights that had just came to life illuminated the small, sad smile on his face. Bruce wanted to say something reassuring, but nothing came. Jordan understood, though. He gripped Bruce’s shoulder.

“We gave it a good shot,” Jordan said.

“Yes,” he said, finally finding his voice. “Yes, we did.”

Thoughts of blame ran through his head. Was it Jordan’s fault? His? He could have held Jordan back, made him wait until a later time when they had more control of the situation. But no one could have predicted the guard.

He wanted to bash his head against the metal truck.

“What is this?” came a stern voice. Sinestro walked into view, face stormy. Any remaining hope faded.

“I caught these two trying to escape,” the guard said in rapid-quick German.

Sinestro already knew that, of course. The validation of it, though, put Sinestro into an even darker mood. Without responding, Sinestro snatched the gun out of the closest guard’s hands. Without hesitating, he aimed the pistol at Jordan’s face.

“No,” Bruce shouted, placing himself in front of Jordan yet again. “You shoot him and you’ll never get another sentence out of me. You’ll never find your artifact.” His throat was hoarse from the force of it.

He was roughly pulled away from Jordan. Bruce got a few good punches in before a blow to his eye stilled him and they were able to restrain him. He looked up to see Hal staring at Sinestro and his hands up in the universal position for surrender.

“Stop and think about this-”

Sinestro’s frown sank deeper. “Do you honestly believe I haven’t thought about this?”

“Okay, you got me there. But still, stop. Kill me now and-”

“Professor Wayne will tell me everything.” Sinestro’s eyes grew even colder. “I will make him.”

From his thick swallow, Hal believed him. Bruce almost did, too.

“Just answer me something first,” Hal said, voice hoarse.

Sinestro was silent, actually considering the request. “What is it?” he finally asked.

Hal deflated a bit, relieved from Sinestro’s moment of mercy. “Why are you so determined to do this? There are good people out there.”

Sinestro was about to rebuke Hal.

“I’m not talking about myself here,” Hal interrupted. “But I’ve known people, I’ve met people-” Hal looked pointedly away from Bruce. “The choices they make, the good they do. It gives me hope in people, in myself.” Hal cleared his throat. “That’s the beauty of humanity, isn’t it?”

Sinestro narrowed his eyes and curled his lip in displeasure. The gun wavered for a moment and Bruce’s heart skipped for one hopeful moment.

The gun steadied again and Bruce’s body to longer felt like his own. He shouted, lunged against the guards, but he was yanked back before he could pull away. He came back to himself when Sinestro’s eyes flickered over to Bruce and then back to Hal.

Sinestro moved before Hal could react, hitting the side of Hal’s head with the butt of the pistol. Hal was knocked to the ground and rolled over onto his knees in pain.

Breathing heavy, Sinestro handed the gun back to the guard and started to walk away. “Watch them,” he said, turning back. “If they leave your sight, I will kill you all one by one.”

Sinestro left and exhaustion hit Bruce. He pushed through it, yanked himself free from the guard’s grips and quickly moved to Hal’s side. He turned Hal over and studied the dark bruise on the side of his face. Hal winced and shielded his eyes from the lights around him.

“Damn, that hurts,” Hal grunted out.

Bruce rocked back on his heels and stared at the millions of stars above them.

“You don’t know how lucky you are,” Bruce said after taking a deep breath. “You should be dead.”

Hal shakily sat up. “Believe me, I know it.”

There were so many things Bruce wanted to ask. About whatever passed between Sinestro and Hal. What the hell they had been talking about. Once again, Bruce only had half the equation. At the moment, though, it took backseat to making sure Hal was okay.

“How much pain are you in? How clear is your vision? Do you see in double?”

Hal waved him away and gingerly touched the growing bruise. “I’ve been hit in the head quite a bit in my life. It’s just going to hurt for a while.”

“Excuse me if I don’t find that reassuring.”

Hal smiled weakly and met Bruce’s eyes. The bruise across his face was sickening, but Bruce’s heart ached for different reasons.

Bruce moved Hal so that he was leaning against the side of the truck and then sat down next to him. Their shoulders met and Bruce found the contact reassuring. The guards were watching closely, but Bruce put it out of his mind and just listened to Hal’s breathing next to him. It was freezing cold, but he ignored that, too.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” Bruce asked quietly.

Hal snorted. “It runs in the family. When my dad died, my mom forbade me to fly like he did.”

“Let me guess, you didn’t listen.”

It was strange, talking to each other like the last fifteen minutes hadn’t happened, like there weren’t several armed men watching their every move.

“Nah,” Hal said. “Ran away to join the Air Force when I was 18. Mom said she wouldn’t talk to me again until I quit.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I didn’t quit. I couldn’t. So, when she was on her deathbed, I punched a general so they’d discharge me.”

Bruce was silent. It wasn’t a story that needed a reply.

Hal looked up at Bruce, his eyes glinting in the lantern light. “It didn’t matter in the end. I got to the hospital too late. I couldn’t say goodbye.”

Bruce nodded and looked away. He didn’t want to see Hal for this part.

“When my parents died,” he started. It was difficult to get it out. “I was obsessed with catching their killer. I poured over case files for years, thinking I was just around the corner. I never did catch him. Eventually, my butler took me to Egyptology wing that my parents had funded. Archaeology became a way of honoring them, carrying on their legacy. I thought that it had set me free from the past.”

Hal was a solid presence next to him.

“I’ve come to realize that my need to find out the truth, decode hieroglyphics, put together the puzzle...nothing had changed. I’ve just changed the object of my obsession.”

Hal knocked his shoulder into Bruce’s. “You have too high expectations. No one needs to be perfect. Maybe you need someone to remind you of that.”

Bruce looked down at Hal, studying his expression. It was soft and affectionate, despite the blood and bruises. “And maybe all you need is someone to bring you back down to earth.”

Hal’s eyes widened and he flushed, which was something Bruce never thought he’d see. Hal, caught off guard, cleared his throat and shifted where he was sitting. “Yeah, well, we still need to stop a plot to take over the world.”

Bruce looked up at the glowing, full moon and settled more fully against the truck. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

***

Bruce knew that Sinestro would no longer tolerate any more withholding of information. Bruce gave him the specific coordinate; a coastal area near the border to Libya.

Bruce and Hal were placed in separate trucks again. Sinestro sat in Bruce’s compartment and his presence was distracting, to say the least. While they sat in silence, Bruce’s mind whirled with escape plans.

Once they found the entrance, Sinestro would likely leave at least ten men guarding the trucks and entrance. That would leave ten soldiers to enter with them. Sinestro would keep him and Hal alive until he found, or didn’t find, whatever he was looking for. After that, all bets were off.

They could maybe try to escape somewhere in the temple. There might be a back entrance or another failsafe that would cause an accident. It was a flimsy plan and not much to rely on.

Sooner than he would’ve liked, the trucks stopped. When the canvas flaps opened, he squinted against the bright sunlight.

They were on top of a flat, brown hill. There was a town in the distance, on the coastline of the Mediterranean sea. Other rolling, flat hills were in the area. The heat was mitigated by the ocean winds.

Hal caught Bruce’s eye and offered a cocky smile that neither of them believed. Bruce appreciated the gesture.

“Lead us to the entrance,” Sinestro ordered Bruce. His tone was curt and offered no argument. Bruce didn’t risk trying to communicate any more with Hal. He gazed around the area and found what he was looking for.

He walked over to a single, large boulder several feet away. It was too heavy for a single man to move. Twenty men, though, might be enough.

“We need to get this out of the way,” Bruce called back.

Sinestro looked suspicious, but still ordered his men to dig the boulder out. It took hours, several shovels, and yards of rope before the rock was finally moved. A deep, dark hole lined with stone tiles was revealed. It looked almost like a well. Only one or two men could fit down it at a time.

Sinestro stood still, staring at the hole for a few minutes. “Tie a rope around that boulder. You,” he said, pointing out a soldier in the back, “are going to descend first.”

The soldier nodded, noticeably paler. He was handed a lantern while a few of the other men secured a rope to the boulder that was lying a few feet away.

Bruce watched as the man and the light descended. A handful of minutes later, the light was much smaller and the man called up.

“What’d he say?” Hal asked.

“It’s safe and there’s a long hallway,” Bruce translated.

One by one they rappelled down the shaft. When Bruce first stepped down, he was reminded of Hetepheres’ tomb. The lanterns illuminated the stone walls, emphasizing the darkness up ahead. Unless there was an exit at the other end of the hallway, it would be impossible to escape.

Bruce led the procession, with two soldiers at his flank. Sinestro was close behind, watching his every move. They walked for longer than he anticipated. Bruce was starting to worry that nothing was there.

Finally, the lanterns lit up a doorway.

Bruce’s heart sped up as they entered a large chamber. The ceiling was high and the lanterns barely illuminated the entire room. The walls were filled with small orifices. There were several of them, more than Bruce could count.

It didn’t feel right.

The orifices didn’t go too deep, but deep enough that one had to hold up a lantern right to it in order to see all the way in.

At the other side of the chamber was a large stone door. It was plain, undecorated except for the cylindrical hole in the middle of it. Sinestro pulled out the five pieces of lapis lazuli and carefully pieced them together. They interlocked and formed a perfect circle.

When Sinestro moved to place the newly formed key into the hole, Bruce was sure nothing would happen. There wasn’t any keyhole, just a circular indentation. There was no way it could work.

Nothing happened at first, when the key was placed. Then, the lapis lazuli started to emit an ethereal glow. Slowly, thin lines of blue stretched out from the middle circle, spreading over the entire door. A good number of them converged on the left side, meeting where the door and wall met. In that spot, a small indentation glowed blue.

“Whoa,” Hal whispered next to him.

“It’s another keyhole,” Bruce thought out loud. He could barely focus on one thing. He could barely fathom what happened.

“You didn’t say anything about another key,” Sinestro snapped, spinning to face Bruce.

Bruce shook himself out of his stupor. This was not the time to be preoccupied.

“There wasn’t any mention of it,” he said. “It must be hidden somewhere in this room.”

Everyone looked around at the dozens of small orifices dug into the walls.

“Spread out,” Sinestro barked out. “Check every single crevice.”

The group of men scattered. Bruce wanted to immediately go to Hal’s side, but it would draw attention. Instead, he went to the opposite side of the room and started to check the holes.

Minutes passed. Bruce could feel Sinestro’s tension rising. Sinestro started to speak to one of the soldiers in rapid-fire German and was distracted for the moment. Bruce inched his way over to Hal, who was bent over, examining something in the corner.

“Bruce,” Hal whispered when Bruce got close enough. “I remember exactly three words of Latin from secondary school,” he pointed at something at the wall, “and all three of them are written right here."

It was a crude sketch of a girl holding a short, thin object that looked worringly much like a key. Below it was two simple sentences etched into the rock.

Bruce was in disbelief. “That says-”

“Yeah. Julia was here. Marcus sucks 10,000 cocks.” Hal was holding back laughter, but Bruce had a difficult time finding any humor.

Julia, whoever or wherever she had been, might have removed the key that they looking for. Sinestro would be furious. They had to hide the graffiti, move a rock to block it, keep the soldiers away.

“Why would there be Latin here, anyway?” Hal asked quietly.

“Sallum, the village near here, had been a Roman port city,” Bruce answered numbly. “The key could’ve been removed hundreds of years ago. Move away before we catch any attention.”

“How would some random girl even get in here?” Jordan muttered.

Bruce didn’t answer. He didn’t know.

They moved a few feet over to the left and purposefully put the graffiti into shadow. Bruce’s heart was pounding. Damnit, Julia. Causing trouble from beyond the grave.

“There might be something I missed,” Bruce called out. Sinestro turned towards him, fury buried under an outwardly calm.

“What would that be, Professor Wayne?” Sinestro asked, slowly and coldly.

“There might be a hidden reference. Something I wasn’t looking for at the time. There might be a puzzle, something I’m missing.” He had to get Sinestro away, distract him, buy them some time.

“We could make a mold of the keyhole?” Hal offered.

Both Sinestro and Bruce turned to glare at him.

“It would be made out of a special material,” Sinestro said sharply.

Hal rubbed the back of his neck. “We could make a mold of the keyhole and then carve it out of that blue rock?”

Bruce gave him a glare that he hoped shouted shut up!

Sinestro started to pace along the stone wall. “We’ll go back up today and regroup.” His gaze snapped to Bruce. “You will pour over every inch of what you translated.”

Bruce nodded.

Until this moment, Bruce had doubted every word of Sinestro’s hypothesis. But after witnessing it firsthand, he had to admit that he was immensely curious. He wanted to see what was behind that door.

They walked back towards the entrance, Hal and Bruce side by side. Sinestro was deep in his thoughts and seemed to ignore their presence at all.

Hal glanced at Bruce’s face. “I know that look,” Hal warned. “It’s your I’m-going-to-obsess-over-this look.”

Bruce huffed and walked faster. “It doesn’t matter. I still need to investigate it.”

Hal hmmed.

Five of Sinestro’s men climbed up the role first. The men above helped pull the rope up, but it still took a while to go one-by-one. Then Hal went up, then Sinestro, then the five remaining men.

He waited for the rope to be thrown back down to him.

It didn’t come.

“What are you waiting for?” he dimly heard Hal demand.

The silhouette of Sinestro’s head and shoulders appeared. “By morning I want either the key produced or another way inside. Stay down there. Think it over.”

Bruce looked at the lantern he was holding. More oil and his notes were thrown down to him.

He closed his eyes and breathed. It was just like any other tomb or temple. The fact that he’d be down there alone shouldn’t matter.

“Are you kidding-” Hal started.

“No.”

Realization slammed into Bruce. They lost their bargaining chip. Bruce was trapped down there, without access to food and water. It might take days or weeks, but eventually Bruce would starve or die of dehydration. If Sinestro demanded an answer in those final agonizing days, Bruce wasn’t sure if he would be able to resist.

There was no longer any need for Hal.

His entire body was numb as he waited for a gun shot, a thud, anything.

"Then let me go down there with him," Hal said.

"No."

There was silence and then Hal called down, "see you in the morning, Bruce."

He didn’t let himself believe that Hal was safe in a tent. If he hoped and then was proven wrong come morning, he wouldn’t be able to take it.

He settled down against the wall and pulled his limbs together for warmth. A blanket fell down and landed a few feet away.

 

He didn’t sleep that night. He was too occupied with the unopenable door, the possibilities of Hal’s fate, and ignoring the shadows.

***

In the end it was anti-climatic.

At dawn, Bruce heard shouting.

A few minutes later, it stopped.

He waited with bated breath, not knowing what to hope for and what to dread.

It was nothing he expected.

First, the rope dropped back down and hung a foot off the ground. Then, Hal leaned over the edge.

“Come on up, Bruce,” he called down.

Bruce stood up on stuff limbs, grabbed the rope, and climbed up as Hal pulled the rope up. Maybe Sinestro had changed his mind or found new evidence he wanted Bruce to consider.

As he gripped the edge of the hole, Hal grabbed his hand and pulled him out.

It took his mind a few moments to process what was happening.

Twenty German soldiers with their hands up. Dozens of soldiers from the British army. Talia and Carol standing a few feet away. No Sinestro in sight.

“What?” was all Bruce would get out. Hal beamed at him.

Bruce turned to Talia. “How-?”

Talia raised an eyebrow. “You bled all over the outside of a collapsed doorway, darling. We knew you got out, but we didn't know where you went."

“A few hours after you left, Talia came to see me," Carol added. "Said some of her notes went missing. Notes pertaining to your site.”

“I heard some rumors that Mr. Thaal Sinestro had been sighted in Cairo. Those same rumors mentioned some unsavory associations of his.”

“I flew Talia and I out to the site, saw what happened. At first we thought you were dead.” Carol paused and looked at Hal. “But then we landed and Talia found the bloody handprint. We put two and two together. Talia put together a huge search party and hired my planes to comb over the country.”

The rush of affection almost bowled him over.

“One of the planes flying along the coast spotted two strange trucks and several armed men,” Talia continued. “We got here as soon as possible.”

“You are both brilliant,” he said, roughly.

Talia smiled. “Yes, we are.”

Hal brought Carol into a sudden, hard hug. It must have been a little painful, because she winced as she patted his back.

“You’re the best friend anyone could ask for,” Hal said roughly.

Carol gave him a look full of tenderness. “I’m pretty fond of you, too, hotshot.”

Bruce turned to see Talia staring at him, eyes contemplative. He cleared his throat.

“Where is Sinestro?” he said, noticing his surroundings again.

“He was gone before they got here,” Hal said. “Must have heard the planes in the distance and didn’t want to take any chances.”

Bruce clenched his fist, ignoring the pain from the wound. “He’s probably long gone.”

Talia put her hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “It is no longer your problem.”

Bruce wanted to argue, that yes, of course it was.

“For once, Bruce,” Hal said, “give it up.”

***

They were transported back by plane. Hal was not flying, so it was a slow and easy flight. Bruce actually managed to fall asleep for most of it.

When they landed, everything became a rush. Several military men and police wanted to talk to them. It was a circus. Somehow, hours later, he ended up in his hotel room with a promise to meet Talia for lunch the next day. Hal had been whisked away by Carol hours before.

Bruce stood there in his silent room, feeling empty. He sat down on his bed and processed everything that had happened. It was only three days, but he felt like a completely different person. He’d have to ponder it more, much more.

A knock at the door shattered his contemplation. He stood up automatically, then reconsidered if he wanted company at all.

“Open up, Bruce,” came Hal’s voice. Bruce opened the door before he knew what he was doing. Dressed in his usual flight jacket, stood Hal, leaning against the door frame. “Miss me?”

Bruce let out a breathy laugh of disbelief. He stepped aside and Hal walked into the room.

“Wow, this is a nice room,” Hal said, looking around at the decor. “I bet the bed’s comfortable. Sometimes I end up falling asleep in the cockpit of a plane.”

“How do you even make it through the day?” Bruce asked.

“I trust my instincts, Bruce.”

Bruce didn’t enjoy all of Hal Jordan’s surprises, but he didn’t mind the kiss.


End file.
